


enstars drabbles

by ecomexi (orphan_account)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, mostly requests from twitter :c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ecomexi
Summary: some drabbles for various enstars ships, usually around 300-800 words each!! most are taken from twitter memes or requests but some are stuff i take on by myself :)! im @_zuttosobade on twitter





	1. natsumugi — promises

The stars twinkled brightly outside, even if there were no windows in the room to know for sure. The floor was dusty and the air cold, which was evidently enough to wake one light sleeper up from his rest. And so, naturally, Natsume's eyes fluttered open just the smallest bit. Immediately, his brain tried to keep up with his senses as he felt the hard, cold floor beneath him, saw the blurry, dark stacks of books towering beside him like skyscrapers, and sensed a presence close to his side. As Natsume blinked and the gears in his mind began to churn again, he recalled with a conflicted click of his tongue where he was.

It was too dark to see much more than vague outlines, for even moonlight was obscured in this room. But Natsume could still feel these existences all around him — towers of books (supposedly, acting as a "bed", even though they were all pushed to the side throughout the progression of the night) and the slowed, shallow breathing of someone sleeping. Natsume sat up. Tsumugi was asleep. Somehow, this element of dramatic irony Natsume alone withheld — it seemed more magical than tense. Like the atmosphere could be scooped into a jar and sold for a high price.

... Natsume _had_ been entertaining the idea of being alone tonight, hadn't he? The uncertain flicker of fondness told him otherwise, though. True, that excuse was just another fabrication he'd reminded himself of, nothing less and nothing more. Tsumugi's words to him earlier — almost clichéd, those platitudes of togetherness were; but they were also painfully true, as Tsumugi had become quite infamous for — were like the ocean that had swept away all uncertainty Natsume had before. Things like grudges that had barely existed in the first place completely escaped him, now. He could even admit to himself that this intimacy right now maybe, just a little, alleviated a sort of fear or anxiety that dwelled in him.

There were no words like "promise" exchanged when Tsumugi offered him those strings of phrases, but it still certainly felt like one. Just like back then, when the two of them had vowed, perhaps blindsightedly, not to leave the other's side. Just like how Natsume felt now, if promises could be feelings. It was a desire — for this same feeling, maybe a mere promise to himself. Natsume lay down again; moved closer, even. Ah, the coldness of the secret room's floor began to melt away more and more the closer Natsume dared to venture. Without a care in the world, his head rested contently on his senpai's chest. He could hear the sleepy heartbeat, and found a warped comfort in his humanity. The quietness, the steadiness of it all cast a weight upon Natsume's eyes, and lulled him to sleep once more. And the room littered with books and dust again fell victim to its darkness, and to the silence that it accompanied.


	2. shumika — doll's sweater

_Click_. The door closed behind Shu, closing off the weak, orange-yellow slivers of winter light from outside. A flight of stairs lay ahead of him,  which he climbed with few matters troubling his mind. He'd come home from the store, groceries in hand — even though it was a bit late, and perhaps an unreasonable time for supper. Shu grimaced, opening the door to the apartment. Well, things like these couldn't be helped.

He marched his way through each room, intending to bring to his roommate's attention that he was home (albeit later than intended). He knocked softly on Mika's bedroom and spoke his name firmly. When Shu's efforts yielded nothing, he felt an idea — no, maybe a realization — strike him. Pace slowing, he opened the door to his own bedroom; sure enough, there lay Mika, eyes closed and breathing slow. Shu let himself smile, perhaps in relief. That was the second time it had happened that week, so there wasn't truly a deep shock. Still, though, he approached the bedside, looking down at Mika with a warmness.

He wasn't covered up, but his face was buried in the pillow beneath him, as if trying to envelop himself in its scent. Though, he did seem to be shivering a little in this winter air, but when Shu noticed this, he simply pulled the elegant comforter over Mika. Mika sensed this in his sleepy state and unconsciously tugged it close to his body. Shu also noticed Mika was wearing a sweater that Shu had sewn for him (he couldn't catch a cold in this cold weather, after all, lest his voice be incompetent for Valkyrie's lives). He held it close, the sleeves clasped together and pressed to his face with love.

Shu sighed softly at the sight, a part of him feeling somewhat intolerant of Mika's recurrent actions, but another part of him was thankful for it. This strange notion — this human will. It gave an entirely new beauty to his creations. Shu reached down and affectionately stroked his thumb over his doll's smooth, perfectly crafted face, feeling the dip of its neck, too, beneath his fingers. Then, the doll fluttered its eyes open, for a moment as unresponsive as a doll should be, doing nothing but staring at its creator blankly. But this doll — no, this human, this _boy_ — refused to obey. He spoke, even sputtered; his so-called porcelain skin heated up in spotty patches. It was all so... unsightly. So ugly. And yet even in that, there lay an otherworldly beauty.

"O-O-Oshi-san?" Mika whispered when Shu's hand had not ceased cradling his face so fondly. He seemed confused — genuinely and seriously confused, not merely flustered. But nonetheless Shu merely pulled away.

"It's time for supper, Kagehira."


	3. eimugi — a hospital visit

Hospitals are always quite dreary places to visit, and this was only one silent note Tsumugi made to himself as he gazed at the stark-white, distantly familiar hallway walls. He could only imagine what it was like to visit this place like it was a second home; would it become comforting, or boring? Would it magically become colorful, or would even the white fade to something else entirely? Criticizing this scenery, however, wasn't his place in the strange hierarchy of tragedy. So he thought nothing more of it.

He stood next to a doorframe. He'd visited it many instances before, but this was the first time in a long while. A bit ago, he had clasped a bouquet of flowers tightly in his hands. Tsumugi remember clearly how he had laid them beside a sickly, pale boy asleep in bed. Ethereally beautiful hair, as thin and frail as silk; eyes as blue as the sky itself were closed gently. He barely looked like a normal high school student, but rather some sort of otherworldly deity. The bouquet had lay on the nightstand, alone and unassuming. It brought a nice color to the plain, lifeless room, and Tsumugi wondered what he would think of it. Now he timidly stuck his nose around the corner.

Eichi was awake, although Tsumugi did not know how long he had been by now, for he'd been lingering there for longer than he could recall. Blankly, he stared at the flowers beside him for a long, silent moment. Although his expression may have been unreadable to most, to Tsumugi it was clearly identified as sadness; a sadness that was contemplative and despairing. Then — with a quick shift in gaze, barely detectable — the expression changed to realization. Ah, so Tsumugi had been caught. Not that he expected any less.

"Tsumugi, how are you?" Eichi bluntly asked to the doorway. The tone of his voice was clearly mildly annoyed, perhaps even disappointed. Tsumugi wasted no time revealing himself, holding his hands to his sides in surrender and stepping with a smile into the hospital. He even laughed.

"I'm fine," he responded, emotion visible but still somehow lacking. "Life is just so lovely~ In fact, Natsume-kun and I recently have decided to form a unit together. Isn't that wonderful, Eichi-kun?"

Eichi did not smile.

"These flowers..." He paused for a long time, focusing intently on the bouquet instead of any of Tsumugi's small talk. "... Tori and Yuzuru come to visit me often. They're... both wonderful children, who obey their guardians and don't fuss when their parents roughly clasp their hands over their ears. They're the small, pure bits of light that shine through a pair of black curtains, those which obscure the bulk of the glare of the sun outside." His gaze shifted, though to what Tsumugi was unsure. "But it feels... as if these flowers on the nightstand have grown directly from those same curtains."

Tsumugi remained silent. Eichi, always speaking in metaphors and riddles. But still the same Eichi he remembered after all; he whose riddles would be solved only when stripped down to the most vulnerable, basic human desire. Even the worst of people desire love — comfort, touch, warmth. And of course, there was no exception to this, not even in the lonely emperor. And so once Tsumugi had unraveled this string of mystery, he came to face the fact that Eichi was asking for comfort, and he was asking for it from Tsumugi. Strange how he could be ignored and used, but then called upon for comfort like it was the most natural thing. Of course, Tsumugi didn't mind it. Of course he would gladly cheer on the person who he had nobly followed for so long.So Tsumugi stepped closer to the bedside, close enough that the two of them could join hands if they wanted such a thing. They locked eyes for just a moment. Tsumugi inspected the sickly face more intimately; its eyes looked puffy and red and glossy, but still perfect.

"Eichi-kun, I don't think you should downplay your friends' love~" Tsumugi sounded cheery, yet... "Maybe now the path looks bleak and lonely, but the further you walk, the more beautiful scenery you can see. You never now, maybe it was just the fog covering your eyes the whole time."

Quiet. Tsumugi turned to leave, even opening his mouth to announce it. Before that — before words, before Tsumugi could turn his back from the bedside, from Eichi — a motion passed faster than Tsumugi could process with his eyes. A surprisingly tight grip clasped Tsumugi's forearm — a pale, frail hand attached to a small wrist — as he tried to turn away, tightening and tightening still. When Tsumugi sent Eichi a look mixed with confusion and a hollow curiosity (maybe even horror, shock lurked in his brain, but he surely did not let it show on his face), the clutch loosened. In fact, Eichi's entire body went limp. But the rest Tsumugi did not see, because by then, he had broken free and made his getaway.

The door closed behind him, even though it had been propped open before. Tsumugi's heart beat rampantly and uselessly. He stared again at the blank wall in front of him.

Even the lonely emperor desires love.


	4. ibayuzu — facade vs facade

Yuzuru took a half-confident step, following behind his unit onstage who waved to the audience. It isn't until Yuzuru was there with them that he finds keeping the trouble at bay the most difficult. It was easy to avoid someone for any length of time, even if they were as troublesome and all too friendly — even if it seemed they went out of their way to try and get on Yuzuru's nerves. But now that they were sharing a stage, and Ibara was most definitely out to get him to crack. At least that's what it seemed like.

As always, Yuzuru took a polite bow as he smiled warmly. The president and everyone else smiled and waved too, as refined as could be. Then came Eden from behind them, but they were stoic and said nothing; still, the crowd cheered wildly. It was strange how similar in theory they seemed — two powerhouse units — but how wildly different they were in reality. Oddly enough, it was not Nagisa who called out to the audience first on this stage, but Ibara.

  "Good evening, everyone! We are Eden!" He stuck his arm up dramatically, and Yuzuru could practically hear the gears working in Ibara's brain as the audience erupted in scream at the very gesture. The other members of Eden looked mildly surprised at the speech, too, but none of them seemed fazed by it. "Tonight we are sharing our stage with Yumenosaki's fine. We are very grateful to be here with them. You see, the truth is, I myself have a personal connection to a memb —"

Yuzuru's expression soured, and he interrupted, saying, "fine is also happy to be able to share the stage with the likes of Eden. Everyone may expect a wonderful live tonight." He tried to send an annoyed look at Ibara without it being too over-the-top. The others in fine looked totally baffled; he even could hear some audience members whispering, _'Isn't he the quiet one?', 'It's always Eichi-kun or Wataru-kun who says the introduction...', 'Yuzuru-kun isn't usually so outspoken...'_. Yuzuru bit his lip, this time glaring at Ibara wholeheartedly. It was part of the plan for Yuzuru to break his facade, Yuzuru knew, but there was no way he was going to let Ibara spill about his past mindlessly to a bunch of strangers, either. In fact, Ibara looked rather delighted for someone who had just been cut off.

_As annoying as always._ Yuzuru stepped on Ibara's foot discreetly. This was only going to get worse.


	5. ibayuzu — rose bush

Rose bushes. Ibara pushed the excess branches aside, a pair of clippers at the ready in his right hand. He traced his finger from the crimson red of the flower all the way to its base, and then made a delicate cut. Although it wasn't often he got to interact with the flower (or any flowers at all), he felt a certain affinity with them, for they were connected to his namesake. Roses brought a series of memories back in little bits, too — whether they be bitter or fond, faint or distinct.

Ibara picked up his bunch of flowers and made his way over to Hiyori, who smiled and nodded with delight. "Ah, this is really good for the arrangement, Ibara-kun! I'm surprised you actually came through~!"

  "Of course!" Ibara grinned that disingenuous grin. "Any task a fellow member of Eden may ask of myself shall surely be fulfilled...☆"

Hiyori only rolled his eyes, then focused on something else. "Hey, hey, you cut up your fingers pretty bad. Why didn't you wear any gloves?"

Ibara looked down curiously, for he hadn't noticed any scratches. But sure enough, there they were, numerous in quantity but all small in size. They hadn't been like this for a long time, not since he done the same exact thing — comb through the thorny rose bushes mindlessly. But back then it was different, because there would be someone there to push his hands away and take the thorns in his place. It was a long time ago, when it heart had beat faster and his mind had raced more frantically. It was all during a time where things were quite different.

  "Ibara?" Hiyori questioned worriedly, peering into what must have looked like a dumbstruck expression resting on Ibara's face. "Is something wrong? Should I send for Nagisa-kun? Do you need first aid or something?"

Ibara blinked, seeing Hiyori's face draw nearer. "Ah! There's no need for that, Tomoe-san! I apologize for concerning you!" He ended the conversation there, but still there existed that memory. It burned like the scratches on his skin were beginning to do, and it lingered until later when he wound up his hand with a tight cloth. It had been all this time, and yet he still couldn't erase the rose thorns of his youth from his memory, and he couldn't get the one who had healed them off his mind.


	6. yuzumika — ephemerality

The quietness of night is what chokes Mika up with nervousness at first. The threat of some type of attacker looms, and he's being led through the halls almost as if pulled by the hand. But the school he'd known as bustling with excitement before is dead silent now, as though it had never been touched before. That is how Mika's anxieties begin, mild and cautious, but it's something more that makes his heart truly hammer.

It is the gaze of his companion, so assured and mysterious — and it is his determined clutch on a nearby broom, intense and focused. Mika knows right now he is but a bystander witnessing whatever is going on in that mind of Yuzuru's, but somehow, he feels like he is experiencing something extraordinary. After all, Yuzuru is a gentle person, always offering kind words and showing expressions full of love and security. Mika knows that much about him, even if he sometimes acts cold or distanced. But now, his eyes tell a different story, even if it is hard to believe.

And so there is a bit of nervousness in this moment, because it seems so permanent. When he sensed a presence, Yuzuru had so boldly told Mika to be quiet; yet, the danger is the last thing on Mika's mind as he hides behind Yuzuru for protection. It feels special, Mika reasons, to see his friend act so strange. The very thought that he could see a completely different side of him — it should be terrifying, but Mika's face is heating up as if it's something embarrassing. He knows, somehow, that the person in front of him, holding one arm out as a shield, is not a threat, but a protector. The look in his eyes lasts only for a fleeting moment.

Mika only inhales and exhales, as though nothing had happened at all.


	7. ibayuzu — a kiss

  "Ibara."

Their faces were too close; uncomfortably so, in that empty backstage hallway. It's too much to bear, Ibara decided, laying down his true words so readily like that. A mixed expression was laid out on Yuzuru's face, his eyes layered with something like pity, something like gratitude. Afterwards, a long pause, and Yuzuru moved closer, perhaps to gaze into Ibara's eyes. His face looked disquieted, even sympathetic in that motherly way he always liked to act. The areas under Yuzuru's eyes were splotched with red spots — the remnants of tears from however many minutes ago — Ibara realized all too late. Ibara's chest was already pounding, but now he felt it squeeze in an ugly stroke of regret.

Ah, but how lovely his eyes were right then, even amidst their clashing emotions. He hadn't been able to properly look at them since they were but children, and even then he had found them extraordinary. They were poised and bold, and they twinkled with contentedness like jewels cradled fondly by their owner — and even then, there was a hidden part of them that lay deep inside, impossible to describe. It was his eyes that had drawn Ibara in so long ago, and it was his eyes that drew him in now.

Ibara couldn't speak, couldn't move. But even so, he found his hand moving on its own accord, resting his hand on Yuzuru's neck with a touch so gentle it could almost melt right into him — tracing his fingers upon such soft skin with a slight hesitation that made Yuzuru smile pitifully.

  "It's alright," he murmured, gentle. "Ibara."

Perhaps it was strange to cradle the side of Yuzuru's head like this, but it felt nice. It felt as if something had been set free from his former self's burdens, like a large truth had been revealed unto him. With those thoughts, Ibara tipped his head close, the intimacy of the moment giving him a single fleeting idea — then he froze. Yuzuru's eyes were on him, waiting to see what he was going to do. Ibara felt a hand on his chest, testing out how hard his heart was beating (it was even harder than before, Ibara noticed now that he was thinking about it). There wasn't any words or even a change in Yuzuru's expression, but somehow the gesture felt like a scolding in and of itself.

Yuzuru was the one who followed through with the motion; his hand rested still on his chest as a warmth came over Ibara. It was sweet — the feeling, that is, because the kiss felt as bitter as could be. Because even though it was such a gentle embrace, even though Yuzuru's lips were as soft as that embrace, Ibara couldn't stop wondering about what was behind those delicately shut eyes. Even though he felt a rush of happiness, honest and colorful, his cynical self took hold of it and choked it down, as if terrified of something so unfamiliar.

Even though he had said many things to Yuzuru in the moments before, there were many things that his pride held back still from saying. Ibara did not mention how there were a few times when he asked, "What's for lunch today?" to the empty bunk below him. He did not mention how he always wondered if he was being thought about — and if he was, if it was fondly or with scorn. He did not mention how he sometimes closed his eyes and wondered things about his childhood friend that he had never asked, simply because they seemed too mundane, and things were always far from mundane in their lives together. What was his favorite color? What did he like to wear? If he could have a superpower, what would it be?

These things sat on his tongue now, since his pride had been beaten down so thoroughly already. It was a few seconds before those soft lips faded from his touch; it was hard to say anything after that. Ibara only sunk into Yuzuru's arms, feeling like a vulnerable child again. But even as a child, he had never let so many layers be torn away from him as now. This feeling was so alien, so far away from his grasp that he had no idea how he was going to bury it again. Ibara wondered if such a thing was even possible.

Even more surprising was a gentle hand on his head now, stroking his hair as if to comfort him. It was exactly like Yuzuru to do something like that. Of course he would... sudden tears fell from his eyes, inexplicably. Yuzuru felt them crash onto his uniform, Ibara was sure of it, but he did not stop to scold him. Why? It was strange to be caught crying like this, and even stranger that he was not being told that to cry is to show weakness.

Ibara wondered if it would be possible to go back.


End file.
